Speechless
by Hestia01
Summary: Mulder and Scully have been attacked, resulting in brain damage! How will they regain their ability to speak? Read and review!


**All right, you know the drill. X-Files is the property of Chris Carter, not mine. Never said it was. In fact, no other random fandoms that I happen to mention throughout the fic belong to me. I just do this for fun**

Speechless

ST MARY'S HOSPITAL

WASHINGTON, D.C.

3:13 PM EDT

A.D. Skinner pulls into the hospital parking lot. He's been there too many times because of these two agents of his. This time, the person on the other end of the phone hadn't even been able to satisfactorily explain what was wrong with them. They'd been found unconscious together outside headquarters yesterday evening. No sign of injury, but…"You'd better get down here."

After getting their information from the receptionist, he ventures down the hallway. Before he enters Agent Scully's room, a nurse dashes out, stopping him. She looks anxious, as though she's at the end of her rope.

"Excuse me, sir, are you here to visit Dana Scully?"

"Yes, why?"

"Better be careful. She's a live one."

"Meaning what, exactly? What's wrong with her?"

"We don't know for sure, but she and the man she came in with…they're not happy."

Irritated at this lack of information, Skinner opens the door and walks in. He stops short, amazed and appalled by what he sees: Agent Scully is restrained by the wrists, struggling and crying hysterically, as if to drown out the doctors' overlapping voices. Skinner pushes past them urgently, taking her hand.

"Will everybody shut up?!"

Stunned by the sudden blessed silence, Scully looks up at her superior, calm and collected. She gives him a weak smile, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Get out of here!" Skinner shouts, "Let her have some peace and quiet." He flashes his ID at them and they all leave. Once they're alone, Skinner turns back to his agent. "Now, I'll take these straps off if you can be a good girl."

Scully tilts her head back and squeezes her eyes shut, looking exhausted and annoyed. Figuring there's not much fight left in her, he unbuckles her restraints. Shakily, she pulls her arms in, rubbing her wrists in relief.

"Now what happened to you? What's going on? Why were you having a tantrum just now? Jesus, Scully, you scared me!"

Scully tiredly props herself up on her elbows, shushing him sternly and shaking her head in defeat.

"I don't understand. Talk to--" Skinner stops abruptly when she puts her hand over his mouth, shushing him again, looking like she may start crying again. She leans forward, hunched over herself, bringing her hands up to cradle her head.

Skinner then looks at the chart hung at the foot of her bed. Reading it over, he sighs, "Brain damage? God, Scully…" with something akin to grief in his voice and expression, he faces what's left of one of his favorite agents. He brushes her hair back sympathetically, "Scully…" She looks up at him apologetically, with an air of shame. She seems fully aware of her "damaged" state, and it's causing her noticeable embarrassment. She points to the bedside table with a soft grunt of urgency. He hands her the pad of paper and pen that are just out of her arm's reach. She pauses for a moment, considering how to proceed. After a few scratches, she holds it out to him. Any hopes for a written message are dashed; she's drawn a stick figure sitting at the bottom of a well, with another one peering down into it. Scully wordlessly vocalizes, pointing to the first figure and then to herself, to the second one and to Skinner. He quickly comprehends, translating the simple drawing: "Help me."

"I'll try. I can't promise anything but…" he regards the puzzled expression on her face and shakes his head. He takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you? How did this happen?" Scully points emphatically to the picture again with a plaintive noise. "I don't know how!" He explodes suddenly, causing Scully to shrink back in alarm and clap her hands over her ears. Skinner takes a few deep breaths, and pats Scully's knee. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you. How am I supposed to fix this though? Where do I begin? There must be some way make you understand."

Scully sits with her arms wrapped around her head, her chin tucked down to her chest. She is clearly just as frustrated as he is. By now his tone of voice has gone back down; it sounds soft and assuring. He'd take care of her. Scully sobs dryly at that thought: she'd gone from being a self-sufficient, capable woman to a half-crazy invalid overnight. Surrounded by a cacophony of meaningless babble, unable to communicate with the one man who's genuinely trying to help her. He keeps repeating a particular sound, in various tones of voice. She is certain that it once held some meaning, something important, but her traitorous brain can't attach it to anything now. She'd wait until he used it again, then find some way to get him to show her what it means. But if he doesn't? Scully shakes her head, stubbornly resolved to take matters into her own hands. Bracing herself for what's to come, she grabs Skinner's arm to get his attention. With a soft grunt, punctuating the effort involved, she questioningly pronounces: "S…Sa…Scah…ly?" She gestures at him, her hands depicting a word coming out of his mouth. She then fixes him with a steady gaze that demands an explanation. Skinner notes this, and is relieved to see that there is no madness or empty stare of idiocy in her eyes.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he tilts her chin up, affirming: "Scu-lly. Scully." He takes a hand mirror from the bedside table and shows her her reflection. "Scully."

This revelation makes her eyes go wide. _That sound! It's me! It means me! I have a sound!_ She looks overjoyed, lets out a short squeal of delight, and eyes him hungrily. Putting a hand over her chest, she repeats with a wide smile, "Scully." Then puts her hand on his chest, anticipating…

"Skinner." He tells her, running a thumb over her cheek. He'd never seen her smile so big before, she looks radiant. She draws an excited gasp and holds his hand to her cheek, kneeling up in bed. She leans forward, as though she expects him to kiss her, he'd never petted her like this before, he'd been touching her more intimately in the last half hour than he had in the whole time they've known each other, and her euphoria of understanding was quickly turning to mild arousal. She allows him to gently ease her away, however, but holds onto his hand.

"Skinner," she repeats confidently. Laughing aloud, she places her hand on each of their chests alternatively, "Scully, Skinner!"

It's all he can do not to laugh at her excitement. He'd seen her in this state before, although the revelations it's been associated with previously were puzzles more perplexing than a simple matter of names. The same thought must have occurred to Scully, because she suddenly looks embarrassed by her outburst. She lays back down, totally relaxed, his hand still in hers. She's relieved that they're finally getting somewhere after the confusion of the past day. She places Skinner's hand over her heart, stroking it reverently. "Skinner…" she sighs, leaving him with no question of what she's trying to tell him. Fearing he'd get the wrong idea and read too much into it, she gives him a friendly swat on the shoulder. He nods, repeats the gesture with a heartening smile.

"I'd better check on Mulder," he mutters to himself.

"M…Mul…der?"

"You know, he's your…he's…Oh!" He gets an idea, picks up her drawing from before and scribbles in another figure at the bottom of the well. "Mulder."

"Mulder! Oh, Mulder!"

"If he was behaving as badly as you were earlier, they've probably got him in a straightjacket. He's lucky it hasn't happened before--" he stops short when Scully shushes him, putting a finger to her lips. Clasping her hands, she silently begs for no more words. He gets up to check on the other half of the X-files team, when Scully softly requests:

"Skinner…Mulder?"

"I'll try to bring him for you. Don't go away." She smiles, satisfied that everything will be taken care of. Skinner might even spring them early. She closes her eyes contentedly, allowing worry to leave her for the moment, she'd think about the technicalities later.

In a few minutes, Skinner brings in a very 'lively' Agent Mulder. Sure enough, he's in a wheelchair and a straightjacket. Mulder sees Scully and stops struggling. Scully hops out of bed and unfastens her partner's restraints. She removes the straightjacket and helps him stand. They embrace for a moment before checking each other for injuries. Mulder gestures helplessly, his frustrated, frightened expression mirroring hers from just a few minutes ago. Scully picks up on it, instantly in step with her partner. Together, they vocalize and gesticulate, seemingly on track with each other from the start.

["What happened to us?"] Mulder gestures angrily.

Scully waves a hand vaguely in the air, then brings it to her head with a soft moan. ["I don't know, but it's giving me a headache."]

Mulder brings his hands to his head, as though tearing his hair out, ["There was so much noise!"]

Scully stomps her heel, throwing up her hands, ["I know!"]

Their eyes lock, and they exchange a knowing smile.  
Mulder points between them, taps his forehead, and ruffles Scully's hair affectionately. ["We understand each other"]

Scully shrugs, unimpressed, ["We always could tell what we're thinking."] She punctuates this with a teasing smirk. As quickly as it had come, it melts away into a worried frown. Mulder traces the line of her mouth with his thumb, mimicking her expression. Looking suddenly anxious, she wrings her hands, looking up at him, her shields fully down. Mulder pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back consolingly. When they break apart; Scully gives him a half-hearted smile. Mulder takes her hands, swinging them between them. Again, their minds are perfectly in synch with each other, both acknowledging that at least they're in this together. Scully shows him the picture she'd drawn for Skinner; Mulder looks at it, taking a moment to decrypt it, and then nodding. He points over at him questioningly. Scully makes a so-so gesture ["He's trying."]

Skinner watches them curiously. He hears Scully laugh, as though at something Mulder had said. He has had reason to suspect before now that these two could read each other's minds, this display only deepens that suspicion.

An hour later, they've been released into Skinner's care, and are on their way to Agent Scully's mother's house. Unfolding a piece of paper from his wallet, Skinner reads "In case things go hideously wrong" followed by the correct address. They pull into the driveway, Scully fits her key into the door, and the three of them file in. Mulder and Scully exchange looks: his asking "What are we doing here?" Hers, answering "Know anyplace better? It's not watched."

They venture further into the house and are met by Margaret Scully. She screams in alarm, causing the three 'intruders' to jump back. The younger Scully steps forward with her hands out, in attempt to calm her mother down.

"Mrs. Scully?" Skinner asks. She nods, on full alert. "Your daughter and her partner have had some kind of accident. Neither of them can speak or understand words, it seems. Can they stay here?"

"Of course, but…oh, Dana!" She pulls her daughter into a sympathetic hug. "Mom," she instructs, splaying a hand over her chest, "Mom. Can you say 'Mom'?"

"Mom," her daughter repeats. "Mom, Scully," she 'introduces' confidently, deflating her mother's relieved expression. Mrs. Scully glares subtly over at Skinner, laying the blame on him for this gaffe.

"Dana," her mother corrects. "Dana Scully. Dana."

"Dana?" The accused gives a confused look to her superior and her partner. She points from Skinner to herself, "Scully." Pointing between her mother and herself, "Dana?"

Margaret nods, not even bothering to try explaining it to her just yet. "What about Fox? Can he speak at all?"

"He hasn't even tried yet. I've never known him to be so quiet."

As if on cue, Mulder pulls his partner close, breathes one word into her hair, "Scully…" In the years that they've known each other, he's used her name in many different ways. The way he said it just now makes her blush.

Skinner takes Mrs. Scully aside to better explain the situation, leaving the pair of silent partners to their own discussion.

Scully drops down into the couch; with a bemused expression, she gestures between the two of them, ["Who would do this to us?"]

Mulder shrugs, sliding his hands over his forehead and through his hair. Then he snaps, holds up a finger indicating an idea. He then mimes smoking a cigarette with a 'creepy' look on his face. His imitation makes Scully smile and make a resigned, allowing gesture. ["Yeah, that was my guess, too."] Her motions become confused again, making a wide interrogative hand signal, ["But why, though?"]

Mulder doesn't have an answer for that; he sinks defeatedly into the seat next to her. Scully strokes his cheek, then brings his hand to her heart as she did with Skinner. "Mulder," she whispers, repeating the gesture once more to make sure he understands. His eyes widen in surprise. Placing her hand over his heart, he confirms, "Scully."

For a second, she looks touched, but it's suddenly replaced by indignant fury. Ripping her hand away from him, she cruelly mocks, gesturing at him, "'Scully'!" Shaking her head emphatically, she begins pacing. "Mulder…" and her hands fly: suggesting a figure floating out the window; she trills, her finger following an imaginary UFO; she curves her hands around her body, indicating a well-endowed female figure, ending with her own impression of the Smoking Man. She points angrily at herself, then at Mulder, before clapping her hands and pointing them both out the door. Her tirade over, having said all that she's been dying to say for far too long, she sits back down next to him, panting.

Mulder puts an arm around her, tentatively touching her chest. "Mulder?"

Scully gives him a tired look, but nods. He puts her hand back over his heart, repeating. "Scully. Scully." Mimicking her previous gestures, he brushes each of them away: ["Samantha…aliens…Diana Fowley…Smoking Man…they don't matter. They won't make me leave you again."] He brushes her cheek, then leans forward and touches his forehead against hers.

"Do you see that? Look, they're…talking to each other! Without words!" Mrs. Scully gasps in amazement. "I think they actually understand each other!"

Skinner is less surprised, he'd seen the pair in action like this when both had perfect fluency. At times it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began. "That should make some things easier; at least they can talk to each other if no one else. You should've seen your daughter's face when I gave her her name--"

"Part of it, anyway, it seems."

"Yes, well, she gave me this look like I'd just given her the most wonderful gift. She practically glowed. And I'd just given her a word, her name, something to call herself. It's still her, it's still them, their personalities and intelligence haven't changed, but it's like they have no concept of words. I don't think they even sound familiar, they're meaningless. Look, I have to go, but call me whenever there's a change." He gives her his number and goes out to the living room to say goodbye. As if sensing that that's what he came in for, both agents stand. Mulder reaches out at arms-length and shakes Skinner's hand, while Scully leaps to her feet, crosses the room and hugs him. He's taken by surprise by her sudden burst of affection, and hugs her back, feeling her breath catching in her throat as she clings to him. He releases her, running his hands down her shoulders to her arms. Touching her face briefly, he mutters, "You'll be okay." Then, in a way that she'll understand, he places her hand over his heart. "Scully." This 'confession' teases a shy smile and a deep sigh out of her as she steps away, halfway dragged back by a distinctly jealous-looking Agent Mulder. Skinner takes the hint and leaves, shutting the front door behind him.

Scully sits down with a dreamy smile, Mulder stands over her with an accusing expression on his face. He points at the door and then at her. ["What the hell was that?"]

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, waving it off. With a guttural sound, Mulder points at her, then at the door again. "Scully…Skinner?" She sighs and stands up, holding her hands out in 'stop' formation.

Maggie looks on, sensing another fight in the works, stepping in before it erupts. "Mulder! Mulder…" she coaxes, drawing him to her by the arm. "It's okay. Skinner friend, friends hug. It's okay. Dana like hug."

"Hug?"

Maggie smiles at his face, a study of genuine curiosity, and she hugs him, patting him on the back. "Mulder like hug?"

"Like?"

"Like," she repeats, smiling herself while turning up the corners of his mouth, rubbing his chest.

:"Like…" Mulder repeats. "Mulder like hug Scully…Dana…" he looks uncertainly into the room and points at Scully.

Too late in realizing what confusion she's created over their names, Maggie sighs. She's saved from further explanation by the phone ringing.

"Hello?"

A man's voice is heard on the other line, "Is this the Scully residence?"

"Yes it is, can I help you?"

"Do you have a daughter in the FBI?"

Her face goes completely ashen; she's unsure how to answer that. To play dumb might deny much-needed help in an intense situation, to give too much information would be to sell her daughter out to potential enemies. "Well…"

The man speaks away from the phone, supposedly to someone in the room with him, "She's cautious, smart gal. Scully must've taught her a thing or two."

"What kind of question is that to lead off with? Now she'll think we're the bad guys!"

"Find out where she is!"

"Shh!!"

The man comes back on the phone, "I'm looking for Dana Scully. Have you heard from her recently? She hasn't been answering her phone and she hasn't been home since before yesterday."

"Uh, may I ask who's calling?"

More voices are heard on the other end, "'bout time she asked who it was. At least she's on her toes."

"We don't want her on her toes with us!"

"Shut up!"

"Listen, lady, you can trust us. We're just trying to find out what happened to our friends. Can you help us?"

Maggie tries to stay calm, in charge of the situation. "Is there any way you can prove that you are who you say you are?"

On the other end of the phone, Langley holds his hand over the phone and looks at his comrades. "She wants proof that we're not after Scully."

"You never said we were _close_ friends. We just bail each other out of trouble once in a while," Byers observes.

"You mean get her _into_ trouble once in a while. Remember Las Vegas?" Frohike recalls. They all smirk over the memory of the normally sedate FBI agent 'drunk' off of analytic histamine.

Langley shrugs, "Thanks for the help," he remarks sarcastically. He turns back to the phone, "Honestly, whatever we can tell you would be known to anyone who was after her. You don't have to tell us where she is if you don't want to; just tell us if she's safe. Is that all right?"

Figuring that there couldn't be much harm in that, Maggie tells him, "Yes, she's safe. Both of them are."

Three sighs of relief are heard on the other end, as well as muffled exclamations of "Thank God!" and "I was getting worried."

Throwing caution to the wind, they don't sound threatening at any rate, she decides to come clean. "They're here, at my house. If any of you could be able to help…they're in a kind of predicament…we need all the help we can get."

Langley gives the other two the thumbs up, pulling a handwritten note off of a corkboard, bearing the instructions: "In case things go hideously wrong". "Great, we'll be right over. Thanks." He hangs up, and the Lone Gunmen are away!

Mrs. Scully hangs up and goes out to the living room, unsure how she's going to explain this. "Mulder, Dana…I…" Words fail her, she sits down in a chair a few feet away from them, feeling smothered by their language barrier.

Scully stands up, approaches her mother, kneeling down next to her, as though being closer to her will aid in understanding. "Mom…" she begins, and then points to the phone, her eyebrows cocked in a definite question mark. ["Who was on the phone?"].

Looking like she's about to cry, she cups her daughter's face in her hand, "I'm so sorry…" She looks her up and down, trying to encompass the cause of her sorrow.

Disturbed to see her mother look so miserable, Scully smiles reassuringly. "Mom," she says emphatically, standing up. She gestures to Mulder, and after a few unspoken words he follows her lead. He mimes shooting her, she drops, but jumps right back up again, brushing herself off. Turning back to her mother, hoping she got the message: ["Don't worry. I've had worse happen. I'm fine."]

Trying to put on a brave face for her daughter, Maggie nods, acknowledging Scully's ability to take care of herself. "I know, dear, but this… How are we going to get the two of you talking ag--" she finds herself cut off as Mulder and Scully both shush her, indicating that she talks too much. Scully kneels back down next to her mother, this time proffering the drawing she'd made for Skinner. Hoping she can understand it as quickly as her A.D. had, she waits for a response.

Maggie takes a minute studying the picture, uncertainty written all over her face. Scully sees this and tries to clarify, pointing to each person in turn, and then to their crude depiction. Nodding hopefully, Scully sits back on her heels.

"You and Mulder…underground? And I'm…looking down at you…? Dana, I'm not very good at this." She confesses, trying to hand it back. Scully refuses to let her mother off that easy, keeps pointing at it, making urgent noises in her throat. Maggie stares at the paper, still as in the dark as ever, trying to uncover the meaning. She looks down at her daughter's face, her brows knitted in consternation, and tries again. "You and Mulder are trapped…well, I can see that…Oh…!" Understanding dawns on her slowly. "Oh, Dana, I'm trying, I really want to help…I just…how do I teach two grown adults how to talk? I mean, it was enough of an ordeal when you were little. How do you start from scratch after thirty years?"

Sensing her mother's helplessness, Scully takes her hand, trying not to look disappointed in their inability to communicate. Mulder has been watching this unfold from his spot on the couch, when he decides to contribute. He squats down in front of Mrs. Scully with a look of intense concentration. Struggling to make the sounds he'd heard her make earlier when she was trying to calm him down, and hoping it was the right thing to say, he forces out "T'sokay, Mom. T'sokay." He puts his arm around his partner's shoulders, hoping to convey that he'd take care of her. Scully leans into him and touches her forehead against his in their usual sign of affection.

"Mulder," Scully sighs, unable to keep the admiration out of her voice, she stands with her arms crossed over her chest, scrutinizing him intently. With an incredulous look on her face, she repeats, "T'sokay?" shaking her head slowly. ["This is _not_ okay!"] She gestures between the two of them, draws her fingers up her throat, then flinging her hands carelessly in the direction of the ceiling. ["You and I need to learn how to talk again or it's hopeless"]

Mulder catches one of Scully's hands by the wrist on its way down, flinging his other hand over at her mother. He picks up the drawing, waves it in Scully's face, and tosses it aside. ["How is she going to help us?"] Pointing down at the discarded picture with a forceful grunt, he beseeches the ceiling as well, ["How is anyone going to help us?"] Scully blanches; this thought obviously depresses her. The idea that they might be stuck like this indefinitely is enough to tip her over the edge of despair. Instantly regretting what he'd just said, Mulder strokes her hand; their lost ability to speak is making them more receptive to physical contact as it's becoming more and more necessary to communicate effectively. Testing the boundaries of these new circumstances, he drops her hand and pulls her in by the waist. They stare at each other, as though they'd finally crossed a threshold.

"Mulder…" she sighs pleadingly with an almost imperceptible headshake, "Mulder…"

Not sure whether he was ignoring or fulfilling her request, he cups her face in his hand, tilting her chin up and kissing her full on the mouth. Scully gasps into his mouth with a soft moan of pleasure. She feels her knees buckle; bringing her arms up around his neck, she presses her body into his to stay upright. Her pleasurable moans become gradually higher and more insistent as she kisses him back. When they separate again, they both look stunned, as though neither could actually believe what just happened. Maggie clears her throat from just a foot away, getting their attention. Guilt is written all over their faces, it's quite a comical image. The tension is then immediately dispelled when Scully and Mulder exchange looks and have the same idea.

"Mom! Mom…Ah…?" Scully demands, still flushed and shaky from the kiss. She gestures between herself and Mulder, then holds her hand out in a 'give me' gesture.

"Oh! You want the word for that? That's called--" Scully shushes her adamantly, holding up one finger with a slight growl. Her mother understands and complies, "Kiss. Kissing."

"Kissing," she repeats, filing the word away with a smile.

Maggie points between them, trying to "talk" like they do, "So…how long have you two been-- How long…" she starts again, holding her hands far apart, getting a shocked expression from Mulder and nervous laughter from Scully. She looks at her hands to see what's so funny, and drops them. "Oh! Not that! Honestly!" She stands, taking a calendar off the wall and drawing her finger backwards through the days. "When did you two start…When…Mulder, Dana…kissing?"

Scully still looks wrong-footed, shakes her head, hands down in a negating gesture. Her mother misinterprets this as not understanding. She holds the calendar up to her daughter's face, pointing vigorously between them again. Scully forces her mother's hand down, nodding to convey that she understands, then pointing downwards with both hands, signaling "Now." Touching Mulder's arm, she shakes her head, flicking her hand between them.

"Just now?" Maggie asks in surprise.

Scully nods, smiling, "Mulder kiss Scully now." Both women nod in unison, fully understanding.

A knock at the door breaks up the mood, Mrs. Scully goes to answer it. Byers, Langley, and Frohike breeze in, bringing with them a couple of pizzas and two twelve-packs of pale ale. Frohike glances around the place, announcing, "Okay, kids, help has arrived. What's Mulder done this time and how can we bail you out?"

Mrs. Scully steps forward, unsure how to begin. Mulder and Scully both look instantly pleased, but surprised, at the sudden appearance of their cohorts. She addresses Byers; he at least appears to be in charge. "Who spoke with me on the phone?"

"That was Langley. Blond guy over there. The short guy next to him is Frohike, I'm Byers. Sorry if we scared you at all, I'm just glad they're all right. What seems to be the trouble? Langley made it sound like the Bat-signal was up."

"Well, we're not sure what happened to them. They were found in the parking lot and brought to the hospital. When they woke up, neither of them could speak or understand anything that was said to them. They're learning a few words, but it's been an uphill climb. They seem to be able to communicate with each other, but it's hard if it's someone else. I don't know if there's anything you people can do." They walk out to the living room together where the others are setting up the makings of an impromptu party. They go through "introductions", to make sure the two agents got all of their names right. Mulder and Scully are back on the couch together, while the remaining two Lone Gunmen push a few chairs close together, turning the living room into a rather casual "classroom". Refreshments are distributed, and the mood is hopeful once more. Although their friends' track record isn't exactly gleaming, it still feels like they're getting to the bottom of things. Ever the gentleman, Langley opens a bottle of beer and hands it to Scully, who, after glancing at the clock to confirm that it's past 5pm, takes a healthy gulp. Mulder follows suit, clinking his bottle against hers.

"I don't know either, but I'm willing to give it a shot. Plus, it won't be the first time we've handled Scully while she's…less than responsive."

Frohike gives Scully a humorous glance, "Remember that? Scully, Las Vegas?" He mimes holding a gun to her neck, "Shhk!" She swats his hand away, hoping that by pretending not to understand he'll drop the embarrassing subject before her mother hears too much about her escapades.

Langley goads her on, "Aw come on, you remember. 'Hi, cutie.'" He bats his eyes in teasing mockery,

This time she flashes a fierce look, half-swallowing a shriek of annoyance. She points her finger at each one, warningly. Then at her mother and Mulder, shaking her head.

"They don't know? Mulder, it's a shame you can't understand this, but maybe if you're lucky you'll hear about it later."

Scully doesn't understand exactly what's being said, but she's picked up enough in context to know what's coming. Not knowing how else to stop them, she whimpers to her mother, "Mom!" Pointing at the three new arrivals, she draws her mother's sympathy, but also her curiosity.

"How bad is it?" Mrs. Scully wants to know.

Byers is the first to withdraw from teasing, "Come on, guys, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I don't want to embarrass her that badly."

"It's not so bad," Frohike insists, "She got injected with some chemical that made her brain go bye-bye for about an hour. She was fine. Hell, she was the life of the party! Don't worry, though, we took good care of her."

"Uh huh," Maggie skeptically remarks. All four men can now see where Scully gets some of her more choice mannerisms

"I mean it! We kept her out of trouble, didn't we guys? She would've been in a lot worse shape if she was alone like that." The other two nod in agreement.

_No one's laughing, maybe they didn't tell the story_, Scully hopes, wishing she knew the words to what she was trying to ask. After a few failed attempts, she brushes it aside in "forget it" fashion, when Langley spots the paper on the floor.

"Hey, what's this? This is pretty good. Which one of you drew this? Look at this, guys, it says 'help us'. Very 'Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra'."

Frohike takes it, "Temba, his arms wide."

Scully irritably snatches it back, repeating her new word, "Temba!" ["Give me that!"] She smoothes it out on the coffee table, protective of her first attempt at communication.

The Lone Gunmen all turn and stare at her, an idea forming. Byers shakes his head, "Oh, no. You wouldn't do that to them." The other two just smile, look back at Mulder and Scully, and nod.

"Oh, yes we would."

Scully looks between the three of them with a serious expression. With a soft, but urgent groan she draws her fingers up her throat, pointing at each of them, repeating the word she now knows to mean "give". "Temba?" She requests, pointing at herself and Mulder. She repeats the gesture again hopefully.

"What does she want?" Langley asks.

"She wants us to give her words." Byers recognizes. He holds up the drawing for her to see and pats her on the shoulder. "We'll set you two right, don't worry," he assures her.

"Bai-yers, "she pronounces his name slowly, pointing at the other two as well; their names are too hard to say at the moment. "Friends…temba…uh…Scully, Mulder." Although these are the most words she's been able to string together all day, she covers her mouth, embarrassed at how ridiculous she sounds. It's one thing to talk like a baby in front of her mother and her partner, but she's used to being the "smart one" when hanging out with these guys. Especially after their last adventure together, she was determined to regain some semblance of dignity around them. She looks over at Mulder, grateful that they can understand each other at their own level, but wishing she could talk to someone else about this, she slumps backwards with a heavy sigh. She'd noticed that Mulder had fallen back into silence since the arrival of their friends, rather than risk sounding like an idiot. He'd been more sensitive to it from the start. Strange, that when he did have the ability to speak, he never minded people thinking he was cracked. That had been the very trait about him that had drawn her attention from the beginning, not to mention her respect. Scully squeezes his hand reassuringly, touching their foreheads together with a comfortable smile, hoping to convey that she doesn't judge him by the way he talks.

"Okay, let's start small. How about a game?" Langley suggests, opening a Dungeons & Dragons core rules book. "That'll get you talking."

Mulder looks hard at the cover with a strained groan; struggle is evident in his eyes as he tries to read it. Giving up on that, he takes it to examine it more closely, it's familiar. Feeling the cover, flipping through it, and looking at the pictures, his expression brightens. "Scully! Uh…" he falters, then holds up two fingers exuberantly. Scully doesn't look like she understands at all, looking from the book to her partner with a completely puzzled expression, unable to see what he's so happy about.

Trying again, he finds a picture and points at it, then to himself. Now Scully understands, her eyes wide in mild horror at what he's implying. She shakes her head firmly, then to emphasize her lack of interest she inspects the pizza boxes. As she's digging into a slice of Hawaiian, Mulder swats her shoulder irritably, gesturing at the book and then at their friends. He draws his fingers up his throat, mimicking Scully's signal for words. He points back at the Lone Gunmen, with a look of someone who rests his case. ["We'll learn words from this. Come on. They're here to help."]

Picking up on the content of the silent debate, Langley pipes up, "Yeah, Scully, it'll be fun. Fun!" He repeats, with a frighteningly exaggerated happy face. Looking like she's just lost the argument, Scully shrugs indifferently, finishing off her beer. Figuring she's going to need to be just a bit drunk for any of the forthcoming game to make sense, she reaches for another one. Frohike slaps her hand away.

"Ah, ah," he scolds, "Let's hear you say it. Temba, Scully. Give…" he prompts, makes a coaxing gesture at her.

"G-give…?" she stammers.

"'Please'," he coaches; both student and teacher look pleased by this progress.

"Please give?" she asks, pointing, wanting another word more than she wanted the beverage. Scully looks over at Mulder with excitement in her eyes. Looking intensely back at her teacher, she quietly murmurs, "Temba," holding her hand out.

"Please give me beer," Frohike gives her the whole sentence to put together.

"Please give Scully beer." She repeats correctly, looking pleased. Her perfect recitation is rewarded by granting her request. She grins over at Mulder, giddy at her success.

Langley has taken the Player's Handbook back from Mulder and flips it open to a page near the beginning. He points between several character classes, holding it out so Mulder can see. After considering for a moment, Mulder sees a familiar image, and points at a wizard with a smile.

"Wiz-ard," Langley instructs, gesturing for a response.

"Wizard," he repeats obediently.

Holding the pages open for Scully to pick her character, Langley can clearly see that she needs more help than her partner, since she is uninitiated. "Fighter, Mage, Wizard, Cleric, Paladin, Bard, and Rogue." He draws his finger down the pages, showing her the pictures of each one. Her confusion is obvious; some things can't be translated to someone with such a language barrier. After some time, she points noncommittally to the rogue. She, too, is taught the word, and as an added bonus, has it acted out by her friends. Langley holds the book open to more pages, flipping between a few this time, for them to pick what race each of their characters is. Mulder points at the human without a moment's pause, then makes an overt recommendation to Scully to be an elf.

"Human, Elf," Langley tells them, getting the correct response from both. Testing them individually, he points at Mulder.

"Human, Wizard," he says.

"Elf—" Scully begins, but is interrupted with a correction from Frohike.

"Elven."

"Elven," she repeats, now learning basic conjugations, "Elven Rogue."

While the rest of them are busy getting their D&D game together, Byers goes back to the van to get their computer equipment. After a few minutes of setting up, with Margaret looking on curiously, unsure of what she should be doing to help, he seems to be in business.

Answering her unasked question, Byers explains, "I'm going to see if we can get a reading of their brain activity, to see where the problem is. We should compare what it looks like when they're talking and when they're…trying to. I hope it gives us something to work with."

Mrs. Scully nods, satisfied for now. "Do you do this kind of thing often?"

Byers smiles, "Like this? No, but…we've teamed up with them on occasion. We're on the freelance side of things, we tend not to get in with the Feds, but we trust Mulder and Scully—" he catches himself, flashing her an apologetic look. "I mean…" he fumbles, unsure of what to say.

Margaret smiles resignedly, "It's all right. I'm starting to think that I'm the only one who still uses her first name. You trust each other though? You consider her a friend?"

Remembering the Bermuda Triangle incident, how abruptly she'd thrown in her lot with them at the risk of her own career, rabbiting through the veritable warren that is FBI headquarters, all for the information they'd needed to find their ghost ship, he simply says, "She's one of us."

"That's good to know. Dana doesn't have many friends, her work makes it hard. Had to be around 'normal' people, I think."

"Well, that would explain the company she keeps. We're a different breed."

After getting the computer equipment set up, Byers digs into a battered attaché case and pulls out a small stack of books. At first, Mrs. Scully thinks they're for the impromptu game that's going on in her living room, but these seem to be more along the lines of technical manuals.

Noticing her questioning expression, Byers supplies, "I know I've seen something in one of these about brain hacking. The theory being that the brain is simply a kind of computer, so there should be a way to tap into it to see what's going on, and hopefully come up with a way to fix them. Looks like they're still able to learn, but when most people have a language in excess of 35,000 words, their selection of 10 words apiece doesn't really amount to much. In any case, they'd be incapable of unassisted living, which puts you out and embarrasses them. Maybe…if we get them hooked up to this, we can clear up whatever's blocking their brain signals. I cobbled the technique from a secret code in one of these books. I know it's the real thing because the Secret Service raided the offices of the company making the book. That means there's gotta be something to it. It's all a matter of cracking it."

Margaret tries to look like she followed along perfectly with the explanation, although it's still very unclear what he intends to do. "Is there any chance that this…could make them worse?"

"I don't see any reason why it should, but it's never been done before so I can't guarantee."

In the next room, the game/lesson continues. Langley is heard coaching Scully, "I…"

"I…"

"Smite thee…" he continues, miming a striking gesture.

"s-smite…thee…"

"Kapow!"

She gives the room at large an incredulous look before acquiescing, deadpan, "Kapow." Heaving a sigh of frustration, she leans back on the couch, draping herself against her partner's shoulder. Shutting her eyes tightly, she growls, smacking herself in the forehead, shouting: "Stupid!"

Frohike reaches forward and grabs her wrist to keep her from hitting herself again, "No, Scully not stupid." He points to her character sheet, "You're a 2nd level Rogue already, and it's your first night," he encourages.

"Second-level Rogue," she repeats, slurring slightly. "That's good?"

"Not bad for a beginner," Langley chimes in, then realizing he's said more than can be understood, "It's good."

"Guys…game!" Mulder exclaims, reminding them that they'd left it hanging.

"Oh yeah, sorry." Frohike holds open a book, points to a picture. "Cavern…passageway. Chaedi?" He points at Scully who rolls a 20-sided dice and it lands on 17. "You found a trap."

"Disarm?" she suggests.

This time Frohike rolls a dice, hiding the results from view. "Qapla!"

Mulder gives her a high-5, "Qapla!"

"Qapla' batl'je," she agrees, even surprising herself at how drawn into the game she's become.

"Okay, what do you do now?"

"What…was trap?" Scully asks. "I want…to s-save it."

"Poison dart. You don't want it."

At this point, Byers has everything ready, he comes into the living room to address the gamers. "Hey, guys, it's all set up. Let's give it a shot."

Mulder and Scully look confused, it's all gone straight over their heads.

Langley translates, holding up Scully's sketch from the hospital. "Byers try to help. Fix." He points at both of their heads.

"Check for trap? Disarm?" Scully asks, applying layered meaning to the word with a brightening expression.

"Exactly!"

With the game broken up, preparations are made for the experiment. Mulder and Scully exchange hopeful yet concerned expressions. Byers stands in front of them, holding up a set of wires attached to electrodes. Pointing between them both, he asks, "Who wants to give it a try?"

Mulder makes a gesture at Scully, who nods, raising her hand.

"Ladies first. I hope this works," Byers concludes.

Meanwhile, Scully is getting hooked up, looking more apprehensive by the minute. Langley watches over, "I wish we knew what happened. What did this to them? Neither of them even knows what hit them."

"You tried asking them?"

"It's kind of fun, actually. Like cracking code. All it takes is a common frame of reference. Scully thinks it was some kind of tazer designed to disrupt brain signals. They're lucky it didn't do more damage than it did."

"Wait, she told you all that?" Byers can't believe either of them could convey something that specific. Scully knows they're talking about her and is getting irritated by their lack of manners. After a few adjustments are made, the screen comes alive in a blaze of colors, like a weather map of the Midwest during tornado season. One spot alone stands out, a dark island amid vibrant thought. Only a few stray sparks keep it from looking utterly dead.

"Look, it shows some activity! It must be reading what she's picking up on. She's a fast learner, it looks like."

Frohike looks at the screen, then over at Scully. "Wait, I just want to try something…"

Scully grabs his wrist, shaking her head firmly with a murderous look in her eyes. This time her mother sees what's going on and intervenes.

"Don't even think about it! Do you have any idea what you could have done, playing around in her brain like that? Just get Dana and Fox sorted out and no funny stuff!"

Frohike backs off, muttering, "I can see where she gets it from."

By now, they've switched the view on the monitor, and it's now filled with binary. Langley has taken over and is scrolling through the seemingly meaningless numbers until he hits upon something. Some strange-looking symbols that certainly don't belong in a screen full of 1s and 0s.

"Okay, 50-50 shot. One wrong move and she could become a gibbering moron."

"Ah, Vegas," Frohike sighs reminiscently, getting slapped by all present.

Langley fidgets, flexing his fingers dramatically and wipes the sweat from his brow. He highlights the two stray symbols, closes his eyes and types in a two 0s.

Margaret peers down at her daughter, "Dana, say something."

Scully looks up at them all, a rather alarming look of confusion on her face.

Frohike has another method, "Character stats."

"Uh, I play a 2nd level Rogue." After a second's pause, she brings a hand to her mouth, then up to her head, gasping sharply. "I don't believe it!"

The fluency of her response is a perfect display of their success. After everyone is done high-fiving and hugging, they turn their attention to Mulder. His fix is much less intense, now that they've already tested it. The first thing he says after he's fixed is "So are we going to keep playing, or what?"

Surprisingly, Scully seems to be of the same mind, "I'm up for it, it's actually been fun. Might make more sense now."

Mulder smirks and gives her a somewhat knowing expression, "Don't count on it."

Fin


End file.
